Chalk up Tuesday to learning a lesson. Feeling OK for two days is not recovered. The pain came back and the traction helped. This looks like a slow recovery.

I did some grocery shopping, fixed a slow cooker brisket, roasted ears of corn in the oven, and had some fresh tomatoes that tasted like real tomatoes.

I still feel erotically disconnected and probably will for a long time. For whatever reason J is sexually distant. More courtship is all I can think of to do. I make sure every lunch I pack for her is about thoughtfulness and consideration of what she likes.

So tonight, right now, I am tired. Bedtime.

Love to you all. ❤

I got my neck stretched. I feel better. To be more precise, I hurt differently.

But I am tired. And emotionally strung out. I feel the need to check in.

More later,

It is 11:30 Eastern Time. I have been miserable and discouraged most of the day. I spent a lot of time trying to get anywhere near comfortable. The pain has settled somewhat, but I’m calling the physical therapist as soon as I can tomorrow.

I hurt and I have no enthusiasm about anything. As a therapist once told me I’m “shoulding” all over myself. I should be swimming, doing Weight Watchers, tidying up the house, reading serious books, but I just don’t care.

So do-overs are allowed. My sobriety has never been at risks. I don’t have to find a new place to live. A pinched nerve in the neck beats a lot of other problems by a multiple of about a million, maybe a gazillion.

I love everybody. ❤

I feel like pain is oozing out of every pore in my body. It isn’t emotional pain, for the most part. There are bits of emotional trauma that come up. Nothing is so bad that it is unbearable. The physical pain is more or less constant. If it doesn’t diminish, I may resume the neck traction.

If I stay up another 20 minutes, I can watch train #86 stop in Ashland on its way North to New York. That is a goal of dubious value but the train is a magic thing for me. I fancy myself riding in the belly of the great steel snake. I will content myself with looking at this scene of Ashland on Virtual Railfan LLC http://virtualrailfanllc.com .

What would Rembrandt or Cezanne or Seurrat have painted had they been able to see this masterpiece of pixillation which is this digital image. Would they have even have bothered to paint if they lived in a world where billions of images are stored on giant computers all over the Earth.

But then again, we have to want to see.

I have become very sceptical about the whole notion of a sexual double standard, that excuses promiscuity, and extramarital sexual activity in males, but condemns such activity by females. I seem to recall Ann Landers and Dear Abby both condemning this behavior, irrespective of who engages in it.

From an historical perspective, sexual promiscuity by men in Victorian times was why the sexually transmitted disease rates were so high. Churchill’s father died of syphilis, as did Nietzsche and Smetana. Frederick Delius went blind from an STD.

The sauce for the gander is sauce for the goose argument has always been weak and has always been proffered by those who would profit from promiscuity, err, sexual liberation, people the likes of Hugh Hefner, the undisputed King of Creepy of the late 20th Century.

I was all set to swim, but I stopped to eat a banana and drink some kefir. I start watching a Japanese movie on YouTube, in Japanese with no subtitles. The challenge is to follow the story through pictures and sound only. It was a good movie. Whilst watching, my friend texted me and we texted about stuff. I needed to connect with John more than I needed a swim.

Then I went to AA.

I’m waiting to hear from J. She is working later than originally scheduled. The phone rings and it’s a robocall from a time share resort. Oh Boy. This is an AI voice, and it responds to how I answer. I stay silent. The call hangs up.

Life in the 21st Century.

It was, on balance, an OK day. I slept, went out for brunch, and the shoulder pain started. The restaurant was way too slow with our orders, but the people-watching was a satisfying diversion.

I came home, watched the women play softball. Good games. Well played Women! Too bad one team had to lose, but that’s sport for you.

I fixed some shrimp for dinner. I bought more strawberries, bananas, heavy cream, the basics of life.

I watched Nicola White of Tideline Art pull the fascinating trash of centuries out of the Thames mud. She is worth her weight in selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors (SSRI’s).

Now Chill Bill is telling us all about the coins he found in a plowed field.

No Trump, no Pelosi, no abortions nor guns. Just simple people seeking to understand our world from tiny bits of the past gleaned from the mud and the fields. Maybe if the politicians, established or aspiring, could see that all the treasures of their realms will one day be fair game for some nosy bloke or sheila with a metal detector, when they will be forgotten, they will approach public life with the proper humility.

It is almost 3:00 AM, Eastern time, North America. I am watching a young Aussie exploring a disused rail line, with two steam locomotives on it, abandoned and rusting. This is typical insomniac entertainment for me, watching these explorer chaps.

I did a lot of sleeping yesterday. We went to the 530 Vigil Mass for this Sunday. It is First Holy Communion for the parish children. It is always a Sunday when the 1100 Mass is taken over by the families of the children. Besides J and I like the 530 Mass, starts our Sunday off on the right foot.

Now there is a Japanese newsreel from the World War Two era. The newsreel’s format is similar to Die Deutsche Wochenschau, the propaganda newsreel of the Third Reich, Nazi Germany. There are lots of bombing and shelling depicted,with some homefront stories, all pretty creepy. The war footage shows the Japanese ravaging China, for the most part. Thank God the militarists lost.

I’m getting tired again.